Nala's story
by Lyra Quillion
Summary: TLK. Rating for sexuality...though it's really no worse than 'the madness of king scar' from the B-way show, since thats sorta whats it's loosely based on.


author's note: dear dear...this is what comes of too many conversations with certain nameless chums at school, listening to the TLK Broadway soundtrack and an old, 21/2 year old fan-fic that needed a re-vamp. This is technically supposed to be a merger of movie and play, my whole theory, yadda yadda. Actually, a great deal of credit goes to the TLK fandom community, the RPers, mostly... Don't kill me for publishing this. Disclaimer: Characters are copyright Disney Nala's Story As the beating sun sets I can only sigh, half with relief from it's glare, half from loss of it's warmth. A cold breeze whips across this barren land of shadows, this land that was once filled with verdant shades of life. Now ashen dust covers cracked ground, wispy and dry among the torn roots of thorny acacias while bleach-boned skulls flash an eerie white against the rough bark. Far off somewhere, a chorus of cackling brings a swift turn of my head, followed by a low whoop that mournfully echoes across the wasteland. Voices of hungry hyenas only worsen my mood, knowing I am to deal with their banter tonight. Scavengers have never been so picky or quick to complain. Often I wonder how Sarabi finds the strength to remain firm even when her heart is shattered. She has a strong will; she isn't as vulnerable as I am, and that realization troubles my worrisome soul. I could have sworn I was once brave, but all has changed as I discover my weaknesses. The stars must be coming out by now, but hidden by heavy clouds the great kings are not so easily seen. Even the moon is only a faint glow, shrouded behind these cursed gray sky-blankets that refuse to release a drop of rain day after day. I sit atop a small hill, a few sparse spikes of grass to cushion my paws from the parched soil. My pale gold pelt gleams as the only vibrant color among the plain, for I refuse to allow grooming habits to slip, even under these conditions. The caves are dirty, soiled from the unkempt gorging of many a carcass the hyenas have torn apart. Nevertheless, I appear silken in the vague moonlight, tail tip flickering side to side in a meditative manner. The pride always says I'm a miracle, a beauty in a broken world, but I wish they'd open their eyes and see the ribs poking from beneath my chest just as much as theirs are. But that is beside the reason I hope they exaggerate. Why wouldn't I want myself noticed this way? When Scar became king of the Pridelands I went on ignorant, barely even noticing at first. Brought up to be wary of Mufasa's brother, I must be thankful for my judgment, even as a cub. I recall how he would beckon for me to sit alongside him while the lionesses were out hunting. Naïve as I was, I would have thought nothing of it. I had always curled up alongside Mufasa on those lazy afternoons, Simba on the other side as we would listen to tales of the past kings of Priderock flow from his rich bass voice (I can almost hear them now; bless both their souls). Slightly intrigued as I was of Simba's odd uncle, Zazu's watchful eye of disapproval would hasten my polite refusal. I have come to appreciate the bird now that I think back, although lately (and thankfully), I haven't been in Scar's chambers for a visit with the majordomo. When my mother became aware than I had even dared to place a paw on the trail to Scar's ledge, I found myself whisked away to the pridal sisters where I was told to keep away from him without an explanation. They must still think I am a cub, still obliviously chasing butterflies (Though there isn't a single flash of painted wings here anymore). They must assume I haven't heard them talk about me frequently on these long unsuccessful hunting days. I should have guessed from the beginning why Banzai and the others of Scar's elite would snigger at me as I passed rather than snap at my heels as they did to aggravate the others. This is the first time I have dared to leave my mother's side at night. Perhaps I worry too much? No, my suspicions were confirmed when I began noticing they way Scar would look at me. His eyes are usually cold and unfeeling, otherwise hiding locked emotions not one of us can decipher. But lately I have caught those glowing eyes on mine, in the way he would look at Sarabi before he lost all patience with her. The meanings of his stares are always kept silent and unapproached, while more and more I catch his gaze from the corner of my eye, that unmoving look that can stop me cold. Even right now, I wonder if he stands on the great rock, looking over the lands as he watches me from a distance. Shakily my paws press harder into the earth, head lowered so that I resist the urge to glance back. Minutes go by, perhaps an hour or so, and exhaustion sets in as my mind drifts. Why has the circle spun us off course? Scar is no king, allowing the hyenas free run of the lands. 'His tawny wretched hide never belonged on this rock, never. I hate the tyrant' Sarabi would say whenever out of earshot, although half of Scar's 'loyal' ranks of scavengers would probably agree. At first we had no trouble bringing down the herds, Sarabi would lead the hunt with a determined hatred to take her revenge on the creatures who killed both mate and son in one day. I only wish I knew why the stars no longer smile on us. Where has the hope gone? Silent tears begin to flow freely down from my muzzle, splashing the thirsty ground a few times before I force them to subside.oh curse my sensitivity! Then all to soon in the midst of my melancholy, I suddenly feel a heavy paw come to rest on my shoulder, a dark paw. Instantly my muscles tense, trembling under my fur as a rush of nervousness overcomes me. Chills run down my spine as I wonder how deep in thought I must have been to miss the sound of padding against dry grass. He speaks my name once, but I make no reply, frozen in fear. I am alone. "Nala" his voice comes sharper now, with a crisp, authoritive edge. This is the gruff Scar we usually see. I blink for a moment before I hesitantly speak up. "Yes.your majesty?" My words are low and soft, and it always seems awkward addressing him in such a manner, but Scar demands it. I feel his eyes upon my back, although I cannot see him behind me. A dark, burning stare traces downward, his paw following midway before resting back on the ground. His eyes keep traveling intently, I am sure of it, and I dare not move. His thoughtful murmur falls upon my ears like thin cobwebs before he rises, padding around to face me. I shouldn't have cringed as his bony pelt grazes mine, Because it only further ignites his dark motivations. "Why Nala, isn't it cold tonight, out here all alone?" Silence. I stare blankly at the fringes of an oily jet black mane tapering over his chest, rising and falling slowly with each audible breath that grazes over my ears. I dare not look up now, for again I feel his eyes run over my form, and a rush of paranoid tingling numbs my senses. Still I remain motionless and wordless, even when he reaches out beneath my muzzle with claws partially extended. My head pounds as he nudges his paw upward, slowly but not with the care of being gentle, forcing my eyes to meet his. Those green orbs are fixated on mine, penetrating, calculating, as that morbid scar of his reminds me why I should fear him. Finally he speaks, voice low and syrupy as his tail lashes whiplike against the ground. "You've grown quite pretty, you know." I freeze at this, paws kneading the earth slightly through the awkward silence. I have never heard that tone from Scar before, his harsh rasp gone. But this scares me even more, the night's stillness reverberating between my ears. I tear my gaze away from him, averting his stare because I know my eyes must be wide, like a cornered gazelle. The most important thing I've learned from my mother is to never look afraid, because it can be taken as a white flag. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I choose a quiet response, using courtesy to cover my panicked state. "Thank you, your highness" I murmur simply, surprised at the timidness in my own voice. I wait for his paw to leave my chin, but instead it trails down my neck in slow motions, his hard eyes locked on my cream- colored chest. The fur on the back of my neck bristles as I glance hesitantly behind me in hopes that someone is awake at the rock "I-I think I'm going to head back just about now" I mumble, beginning to inch backwards. But his paw is laid sternly on mine as his voice returns to a militaristic snap. "You are to go nowhere until I tell you" the order come almost instantly, eyes flashing like lightening as he stands, beginning to circle me like a vulture. I sit and stare blankly ahead, wondering how any lioness is to hold a shred of dignity throughout one of these inspections. My shoulders hunch over as I try thinking of other things.but it is difficult to ignore his pacing. With a crooked grin of satisfaction he finally pauses, and as the dusty wind rustles past my ears they faintly prick to his dark voice once more. "Charming" he breathes, gloating over my name as he repeats it, tongue flicking over his teeth as he forms syllables like a serpent. "Noble features, elegant, perfect form, young...mmh, yes, certainly fitting adequate capabilities." he muses aloud as if I weren't even here, a thin stirring of what might be considered a dry purr rolling lividly from his throat. My skin burns beneath my fur in overheated tension, what would have been an abashed blush if it were any lion but this. Please, I'm not that pretty, I'm thin, worn, too young to be elegant. I'm weak.stars give me strength. I cannot face him. His next words strike a dull chord in my heart. "A pity, your place among royalty was to be from the start, stolen from misfortune". Simba. How do I get through a day without so many thoughts of grievance for him. I swallow a dry sob, and a million could-have-beens. I could have been the queen of my best friend, could have pinned the king of Priderock in an eye's blink! But no I have no place, the most pointless of pride additions, just another mouth to feed. And with scar, I should like to keep it that way. But his plans are the likewise, and at my continued silence he brings in a deep breath and draws himself up to full 'regal' height. And then comes his proclamation, a death sentence to me. "And fear not such promise be wasted, sweet Nala, for the golden age of the pridelands rests on you as prime bearer of our exalted future!" "What?" my voice quavers unnaturally as I falter, blinking once as I stare back, open mouthed. A thin smirk of madness spreads across his muzzle, and he lowers his head to mine so we are nose to nose "Tonight you shall become host to my heir." It takes an eternity of time for these words to sink in, and when come back to my senses I find myself leaning backward, slowly recoiling with a gasp of breathlessness. "I-I cannot-" "It's fate Nala." Scar rises, as if to circle again. "Always has been your fate, you cannot resist it" he responds a pit of burning flames in his triumphant tone. Before I am even aware his paws have found their way around my middle, forcing me to the ground. A purring rasp now takes over between a lust murmur I cannot make out the words to, his muzzle groping for the nape of my neck. A sudden nipping pinches my flesh and I release yowl, flooded with panic as my eyes burst open. I try to pull away, but his hold on me is painfully strong, the tips of onyx claws protruding dangerously close to the delicate skin of my underbelly. "Purr" he commands hoarsely, his whiskers running along the tips of my ears as his nuzzling becomes more fervent. "Purr for me, cooperate and you won't-" And then a roar bursts forth. By some stroke of the stars my teeth have found his shoulder and instinctively clamped upon it in wild terror. Drawing away her swipes out to cuff me full in the face, I am released and sent sprawling backwards. Dazed, I crouch defensively a yard from the dark lion, now examining the torn flesh with a low growl. Moments pass as I catch my breath, too scared to run.then finally he hovers over me, smirk returning. "Well! We have grown a bit feisty in our time, have we Nala?" "Don't touch me" I whisper fiercely, and his lip curls. Scar snarls, throwing out his chest as he looms over me. "I am the King! And now, you are my-" "I am my own" comes my flat response, growl peeling apart my lips. My back arches and I hold my ground, for the first time daring to face the king. Scar seems to hesitate a moment, before his eyes return to a wave untamed lust. "No." he glowers softly, lavishing in a moment of final domination. "mine." Surely beyond his madness he knows it is his last moment over me. I am slipping defiantly through his claws, and he could very well kill me before I would ever place myself beneath him. "Never!" I launch myself to my paws again and hiss like a cobra, spitting at him with more consideration for my pride than the provoked danger. All my woes have flung forth into the outburst, a seemingly endless time of oppressed anxiety released. "Do that again and you'll die for it!" Scar's eyes narrow as he gives a vicious roar to the night sky, lowering himself as if to pounce. It's now or never. Without warning I throw myself sideway, dashing away, not looking back as my paws pound the earth. I hear a release of rage behind me, but much distance has been put between us now, and I don't care to see if he chases me. I only want to get away, as far as possible.for a moment I glance west to the rock, in hopes to find my mother. But no, I can't risk being cornered in a cave. The only free path is beyond the rock, and just as I pass by the Great Baobab a figure breaks my line of view in the darkness. I slam into a furred body before I can stop myself, knocking the creature over and receiving a crack to the side with something hard. Panicked, I glance back to find a stick on the ground beside me, and the ancient mandrill himself who flung it. As I catch my breath Rafiki climbs to his feet with an odd chuckle. The keeper of spirits must never know what I am running from. In the dim light of stars that have appeared from behind a parted cloud, I see on closer look that his old eyes feel for my distress. Rafiki must know, for he has always known our troubles. Surely I could trust him, only he asks for no explanation. "You are headed?" "I.I don't know" I stammer, voice back to it's trembling state "I'm leaving" A decisive sigh brushes out of my muzzle, for I know either way I must escape from this place. Oddly enough, the old mandrill only gives a painted, crooked smile. There is something powerful about the shaman's mysterious grin, something that speaks on an untold secret "I see" Beckoning me closer, he reaches a hand across my shoulder blades, gives a sole pat of comfort. ".but on the contrary Nala, I believe you have just arrived." With that, he stretches his gnarled staff southward, to the bordering gorge where nothing but a wide expanse of desert lies. "Arrived" I repeat with a worrisome frown of doubt. Clearly Rafiki is getting too old for sensible advice. Age takes it's toll on one's judgment after all.or perhaps it's the hyenas who normally circle his tree, licking their lips. But I want to trust him, desperately. "Yes.A new path. The wind has told me so. You will find you wildes' dreams out 'dere" he winks mysteriously, and in my confusion I open my mouth to protest. The desert? And abandon the others? "You will find hope. Remember, Lea Halalea...this land is still holy." Heaving a sigh, I look southward. In all my days, I never wondered what might be beyond it, but a twinge of instinct tells me it can't get any worse. "You're right." I nod, before turning back to Rafiki, my eyes misting faintly as I glance up into his worn eyes "...see that my mother sheds no tears?". The old shaman smiles, rattling his gourds over my head as a few faint words in the ancient tongues are spoken, then wraps his thinned arms around me in a warm embrace. I can find no meaningful words to murmur back, I've never been well with words. A thin smile says enough. Turning, I pad slowly southward, eyes trained on the dunes ahead. I had never wondered what might be beyond them, but a twinge of instinct tells me it can't get any worse. There must be a hope out there.... ...Something I've lost here. 


End file.
